


The Promise

by Sherry_CS



Series: The Aftermath [1]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 16:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19816318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherry_CS/pseuds/Sherry_CS
Summary: My take on how Mikhail and Feilong will tear themselves out of the current mess (the kidnapping), and exorcise each other of their respective demons.





	The Promise

He’s been dead before. Come to think of it, Death has been his only constant friend since childhood. His life has been a never-ending children’s fight to see just how close he could get to his Friend’s body. A few times, he was _very_ close. 

This? This is nothing. Blood down his face, broken lips, broken ribs, slashes in his back, missing fingernails, copper taste in his mouth, burning churning feeling in his stomach, can’t feel his fucking legs… Been there, done that, boys. All your run-of-the-mill torture techniques. Nothing he hadn’t seen. Nothing he hadn’t _felt_. Utter lack of originality. 

They don’t know what he’d been through. If they did, they wouldn’t leave him here with only two men to watch him. 

He moaned.

One of the goons noticed, poked his dozing friend awake, and said something in Russian. 

They approached him. 

The bigger one grabbed his hair, forcing his head back. He made a wincing face. 

“You ready to tell us what we want?” The goon menaced in heavy-accented English. 

“I already... did…” He replied in a hoarse broken voice. The grab in his hair tightened. He made a pained sound and bit his lower lip. “Don’t mess with us, doll. You’re important to us but not _that_ important.”

“Oh yeah? What if I tell you…” He chuckled, spitting blood from the corner of his mouth, and said something inaudible. “What was that?” The goon leaned in. 

That was his big mistake. 

—

Everyone thought he loved his uncle, so when he locked himself up after Yuri got shot and fell into the sea, everyone thought it was due to grief. Only he knew, it was glee. 

They’d all seen the scars on his back. He never made a secret of it, but no one ever dared to ask. If they did, he would’ve said, in Yuri’s presence, that some old impotent bastard gave him those, so what does it tell you boys? Get it up while you can! And they would cheer, and laugh, and drink, and Yuri would stay passive amidst it all, like he always did, taking no part in their drinking or their blaspheming. But inside, Mikhail knew, he would be fuming. He would regret he let that boy live twenty years ago, so bad it’d make his organs hurt. Mikhail would love to see his face when he did that. 

Another crack upon his back. He heard his flesh rip. Yuri had been sticking to the old map of scars, like he was creating his masterpiece all over again. Mikhail bit down on the inner wall of his mouth. He was not that helpless child any more. If Yuri thought he could hear him scream again, he’d better think again. 

However, playing tough was not gonna get him nearer to his Dragon. Mikhail thought about what he had to do, and mentally whacked his own brain. He coughed up blood, and let his head droop. 

Yuri, of course, did not buy it. He paced around Mikhail and tilted up his chin with the tip of the whip. “Playing dead, are we?” He spit the words, “I can play that game.” Raising the blood-drenched whip high over his head, he brought it down with such punishing force that the slim length hissed like a kettle on its way down, searing the air damn near visibly. It bit into the vulnerable strip between Mikhail’s shoulder and neck and slashed across his chest like a knife, drawing blood instantly. Mikhail’s body shook, but he did not wake up. His mouth slackened, gurgling up fresh blood, but he did not wake up. 

Yuri tsked and made to go check on him. Just then, the door was opened from the outside. 

“I told you boys to leave us alone.” Yuri turned around to find Aaron standing at the door, overlooking the scene with visible disgust. “Have you lost it, old man? You kill him, and we run out of all clues on the shipment.” The burly youngster with a long scar across his left eye paced near, “we are here for a job, not for fun.” “One does not exclude the other.” Yuri turned to face him. “In this case, it does.” Aaron stood inches apart from Yuri and looked undauntedly into his eyes. “Give me that whip.” He commanded. Yuri raised one brow. “Are you giving _me_ the orders, boy?” “There is no order of dictation in the Chernobog, old man, you’re not my superior.” “Call me old man again and I’ll show you some discipline like I showed little Misha here...” “You can try...” Aaron stepped up till the two men’s chests were touching, both trying to stare the other one down. 

Just then, a deafening explosion sounded outside, shaking the whole cabin and throwing both men onto the ground. “What was that?!” Aaron shouted. “Fuck!” Yuri was the first to react, throwing the bloodied whip on the ground and bolting out the door. He pivoted around just before lashing out. “Keep an eye on him. Guy’s cunning as a fox.” He bellowed at Aaron, before stomping out toward the commotion. 

Aaron suddenly found himself holding the short end of the stick. He wanted to go too, but at the same time, if he left and something happened to Arbatov… He could not take that risk. Fucking old fox, got all the best bits to himself. Cursing, he turned around to see what state his captive was in, and was promptly greeted with a powerful punch into his one seeing eye. 

—

The sea was as black as a dreamless sleep. The explosion created a perfect opportunity for him to seek cover. Feilong hid behind a line of crates in a storage space below deck, and checked his magazine. Only two more bullets left. He used up most of it shooting and fighting his way up from the lower tiers. Judging from the motion of the ship, he concluded they were still in the bay. A shipyard? Most likely. They attracted less attention and were not regularly checked into. He made a mental note to improve on that later. For now, he had to focus on escape. If he could somehow find a way up to the deck… but first, he’d have to find ammunition, fast. Or he wouldn’t last two minutes out of this room. 

He listened to the commotion outside. Gunshots. Running. Shouting. Bodies falling. A war going on up there, but who on who? He knew it was not Baishe. They had a special way of signalling that he designed personally. If it was them, he would have known by now. (Useless rats, are they that slow or have they given up on him already? He will get to the bottom of this.) Asami? Not likely. More than anything he hated flashiness. Frankly it could be anybody. He didn’t know much about Chernobog (whose name he found out during his own interrogation) but he knew they made a lot of enemies. If he ventured out now, he’d have a 50-50 chance of landing himself in the grasp of a friend or a foe. Or could it be…? A name flashed in his head. No. He couldn’t count on that man. In spite of everything, that man was all about profitability and practicality. Why risk so much for nothing? Yes, they made a deal, but that was… That was rather desperate of him and he regretted it the moment he walked out of that hotel room. 

There was scrambling out in the hallway. He leaned close to the door and held his gun close. The door cracked open and a body was thrown in, followed by a tall dark figure. The figure shut the door, trained his gun at his limping crouching captive, and said something in Russian. Feilong picked up his own name. And that voice... he came out of hiding, raised his gun, and pressed it against the figure's hooded skull. “Mikhail.” He called. 

The figure stilled. A visible straightening of the back. Pale bloodied hands pushing the hood off. Bright golden hair and a brighter smile greeted Feilong as the figure turned around. It was Mikhail Arbatov alright. He beamed like a child in the same beat as he shot his captive in the head, without looking back. Feilong did not break eye contact with Mikhail, nor did he retreat his own gun which now pressed against the Russian’s forehead. “What are you doing here?” Feilong asked in a neutral tone. “Thank God you’re alive! I looked everywhere! I nearly fucking lost hope, baby! You’re alive! That’s good. That’s very good. How bad you hurt...” “Shush!” Feilong suddenly pressed close and covered Mikhail’s babbling mouth with his gunless hand as footsteps scurried past outside. He listened. He listened some more. Then he let go. “You talk too loud.” “Wait.” Mikhail grabbed his wrist, halting his hand in mid-air. “I’ve missed you,” whispered the Russian Romeo as he leaned down and planted a kiss on the inside of Feilong’s wrist. 

“Quit your buffoonery.” Feilong swatted Mikhail’s hand away. “Do you want to get out of here or not?” “With just you and I in a tight space like this? I have to say my mind is conflicted.” His playful azure eyes gleamed and the white flash of his teeth was a tad too bright in the dark. “You don’t have enough mind to be conflicted.” Feilong retorted out of habit, even though he knew Mikhail enjoyed their verbal fencing like the finest wine. He made his way back to the door. “Why are you here?” 

“I made you a promise, didn’t I?” Mikhail answered casually and sat down on a crate nearby. 

Feilong paused. “To eliminate the enemy, not to get caught by them.” 

“You see, that’s where the message got a bit muddled…” Mikhail started to laugh but choked on it. Feilong turned around. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m p-perfect…” “No, you’re not, you’re bleeding.” He walked toward Mikhail. “Out of every hole. Oops, is that TMI?” “Shut up. Let me check.” 

Feilong took Mikhail’s wrist and pressed two fingers on his pulse. He listened for a while, then let it go. “Sorry, I’m not a Chinese doctor. Can’t make anything out of it. Always thought it’s a hoax.” “What?!” For once, Mikhail was the flabbergasted party. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh at this, but in any case, the mood was lightened. “That explosion, was it you?” Feilong asked. “What do you think?” Mikhail ran his fingers through his hair and tossed the golden mess, “think I’d get caught without good cause?” When Feilong gave no reply, Mikhail went on. “I carried a tracking device in. What better way to find out your enemy’s hiding place than coming in here yourself, eh? My boys are probably looking at the monitor right now and wondering why it’s not moving.”

A brief silence, then Feilong asked, “how?” Even though Mikhail couldn’t make out his features in the dark, he knew his Dragon was squinting his eyes. “I promise you, baby, you don’t wanna know.” Feilong grunted, and Mikhail knew he was weighing between that fang-shaped pendant on his neck, and some less savoury option. 

Finally. “Your explosion, does it have a follow-up?” The Dragon stood and marched toward the door.

“Sure,” Mikhail followed suit, cocking his pistol. “We go out and shoot’em.”

—

True to Baishe’s name, the signal was a series of high-frequency hiss, ranging from unpleasant to fucking horrible. On the deck, the band of survivors all covered their ears, all except Mikhail and Feilong. The Russian pressed his weapon into his uncle’s bleeding temple while Feilong had the rest of the guerrilla under control. Mikhail’s men, bloody and tattered as they might be, were training their guns at what little was left of Chernobog. Aaron was the last to be executed. The rest of them Mikhail intended to take back to Russia for further questioning, a much worse fate for them than dying. 

Mikhail had Yuri kneel on the floor, the latter's weapon kicked out of the way. “Give it up, Uncle. The war is over.” Yuri spat a bloody tooth. His right arm was broken out of its socket. Both his legs had multiple holes in them. Still, he held his head high. “Just shoot me, boy, or do you need your whore’s order to do that?” He barely finished that sentence before a kick from Feilong knocked two more of his teeth out. In the distance, Baishe’s men were flocking onto the deck. “I wanted to leave this to you, but now I’m fast changing my mind.” Feilong looked into Mikhail’s eyes and warned. The blonde sighed. He paced around and, still pressing his gun against his captive's forehead, he knelt in front of Yuri, and made his offer. 

“Uncle, say you’re sorry.”

“For what?” Yuri was pure vehemence. 

“Why, for ruining my life,” Mikhail chortled, “for teaching me fear, for robbing me of the ability to trust, for separating me from my family, and for making it impossible for me to truly enjoy BDSM sex, of course.” He turned around to face Feilong after that last part, “which of course can be remedied.” The Dragon rolled his eyes. 

“So, Uncle, will you apologise to me?” Mikhail suggested with a smile. 

“Never.” Yuri gritted. 

“Thought so.” And just like that, the young Russian rose, and put a bullet through his uncle’s head, square centre. 

For a moment, everything was still. A wind swept across the sea, adding a salty taste to the sanguinary air. It lifted Mikhail’s shirt and for the first time, Feilong had a chance to look at the bloody crisscross on the man's back.

It looked like a torn map, a painting washed by a crimson rain. New cuts were layered upon old wounds, fresh openings and old scars blended into one gory mess. It looked like Hell’s mouth gaping. Feilong caught himself thinking if those wounds didn’t get dressed quickly they could get infected. Neither of them had the time to treat their wounds but the notion didn’t come to him until now. 

Baishe’s men surrounded them now, awaiting their boss’ order. Yoh’s right arm was still in casters but he held a gun with his other hand. Feilong had started to leave. Halfway across the deck, he turned around. 

“Arbatov.”

“Yes, Feilong?” Mikhail turned around with a smile, no fooling, no flirting, just plain old comradeship. 

“You want those wounds seen to?” Half-doubting his own words, Feilong suggested. Mikhail’s response was so outrageous it left Feilong no headspace for doubt, only annoyance. The giant bear feigned falling to the ground. “Oh yes, please! I’m losing so much blood I can’t see! Is that an angel before me? Wait a minute, I can’t walk! I can’t feel my legs! Someone help! Will someone help me stand…” 

“Catch up or we’re leaving without you.” Feilong turned and left.

“Alrighty.” Mikhail quickly rose and ran. 

He was going to regret this later but for now he had no other choice, thought Feilong. They made a deal. True to his words, Mikhail ended Chernobog for him, and he must offer something concrete in return. Those are the rules. Surely Mikhail couldn’t have wanted just one night with him. 

For now he will bear with the Russian.

A promise is a promise, nothing less, nothing more. 


End file.
